


Come Home to Me

by lets_talk_appella



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: A little darker than my usual, Anxiety, But it ends okay, Depiction of severe car accident though not graphic, F/F, No humor relief, bechloe fic, worried Chloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lets_talk_appella/pseuds/lets_talk_appella
Summary: Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency.Beca really should have been home by now.





	1. Chapter 1 - Chloe

Beca’s late. Chloe checks the time on her phone for the fourth time in as many minutes to again confirm that yes, Beca is late for dinner. She should have been home before 6:00, and it is now 6:18.

It wouldn’t really be a problem, except the ravioli is starting to get soggy even though she’d turned down the heat several times. Ravioli is Beca’s favorite, and Chloe made it to butter up her wife before attempting to broach an important topic of conversation with her.

Chloe prods the pasta hopefully with a spoon, only for it to tear open on contact. Yep. It’s more than done. Sighing, she reaches to the overhead cabinet for a strainer, only to be greeted by a blender. She blinks. Then, she remembers; they’d put the strainer above the sink, not above the stove like it had been in the old apartment they’d shared with Amy.

She moves to the sink to pull down the strainer, a little annoyed with herself for not yet having the hang of the layout of the kitchen. Sure, they’d only lived in their half of the duplex for three weeks, but she should at least know where stuff is.

Then again, her mind has been otherwise occupied as of late.

She pulls down the strainer and sets it in the sink, letting some cold water run next to it. She returns to the stovetop for the pasta and drains it into the strainer, turning her face away from the rising cloud of steam. The ravioli flops out of the pan to land limply in the strainer. Chloe grimaces at it. If her wife had been on time, this wouldn’t have been an issue… but oh well. Beca isn’t a picky eater.

Chloe carries the ravioli over to the table, grabbing the sauce pan from the stove on her way. She sets everything down and takes her usual seat at the table, again glancing at her phone. 6:25. She gets a weird fluttering in her stomach and she shifts in her chair uneasily as she places her phone face-up next to her plate.

Beca’s commute from Brooklyn isn’t that long, but Chloe knows the traffic still makes her nervous. She’d simply walked to and from work when they’d lived in Brooklyn, but now that they’re farther in the suburbs, Beca has to drive. And it’s not that Beca’s a bad driver (she’s actually a pretty good driver), it’s just that Chloe knows she can be a little reckless and impatient. She tends to drive rather quickly and assertively (though she is much more cautious when Chloe is in the car with her).

Chloe dishes herself out some of the pasta, being sure to save a good amount for Beca. She chases it around her plate with her fork, suddenly not feeling particularly hungry. She finds herself glancing out the window at their empty driveway with increasing frequency.

Beca really should have been home by now.

Chloe exhales slowly through her nose, trying to soothe herself. It’s probably nothing. Traffic must be a little heavy, or maybe she got caught up with a particularly demanding client; some of those music artists can be a little insane. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It’s just.

Beca usually would have called or texted her. They had decided early in their relationship that if one of them was running late, they’d let the other know. It had been Chloe’s idea and Beca had readily agreed. Even if she was only going to be five minutes late, she’d tell Chloe about it without fail.

Chloe’s eyes again shift to her phone. Nothing.

The uneasy feeling in her stomach builds, rising to her throat. She swallows, hard.

Their pasta is no longer hot, but Chloe can’t eat any of it anyway.

Maybe she should just call Beca. Her hand is reaching for her phone as soon as the thought forms, only for her to snatch it back. If Beca’s driving – no, Beca is driving, there’s no “if” – then a phone call might distract her and do more harm than good. Besides, Chloe doesn’t want to be **that** nagging wife. They’ve only been married for ten months, so surely, it’s too soon to become a nag?

Besides, it hasn’t even really been that long.

Except. Now it’s 6:37.

Chloe sits, torn, biting her lip. A text wouldn’t hurt. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to distract Beca from her driving. She picks up her phone and types out a simple “ _On the way?_ ” to Beca and watches as it sends. There.

Chloe knows she’s being silly. New York traffic is unpredictable. If only she didn’t feel so…off about it all, then it wouldn’t be a problem.

She stares down at her dinner, barely touched. The thought of eating more makes her stomach roll, so she picks up her plate and stands to take it to the sink.

The text had done nothing to calm her nerves; if anything, it made her more anxious, her ears straining for the sound of the text notification and Beca’s reply. Beca usually responds within minutes, unless she’s working with a client.

Chloe scrapes her plate into a container for leftovers, puts it in the fridge, then places her dishes in the sink. Her shoulders feel stiff; maybe Beca could give her a massage when she gets home. Chloe’s hands grasp the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. She stands at the sink, her eyes staring at nothing out the kitchen window. She finds herself thinking “ _Please_ ,” over and over again, her heart rate increasing with the mantra.

Beca should have been home nearly an hour ago.

Chloe’s phone chimes.

She whirls and lunges for her phone at the table. Her hip collides with the back of the chair she’d been sitting in, but she barely feels the impact and doesn’t even flinch when the chair is sent to the floor with a bang.

Even before she unlocks her phone with shaking fingers, though, her brain registers that it hadn’t been her text notification tone. She can’t immediately associate an app with the chime, but nevertheless she’s sure it has something to do with her absent wife. She knows it in her bones.

Which is why the emergency news notification hits her like a kick to the stomach.

The alert flashes at her, the text in all caps in combination with her anxiety making it hard for her to read.

BREAKING: 5:53pm…EXPLOSION ON US I-495 (LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY) LEAVING BROOKLYN MARKER 29… GAS CARRIER TIPPED…SEVERAL CARS INVOLVED…FATALITIES AND INJURIES TO BE CONFIRMED…BLAST RADIUS 30 YARDS…EXPECT DELAY

Beca takes that route home after work. And the time of the explosion would line up with her commute.

Chloe feels the blood drain from her face. She’s suddenly woozy and sits down hard on the floor.

_Oh, God, Beca, please don’t have been there. Please have passed it already or have been behind it, anything, please don’t have been driving right next to it._

Chloe squeezes her eyes shut tightly. She can picture it happening. She can clearly see in her mind’s eye: Beca driving right next to the gas hauler as it tips. Beca jerking the wheel reflexively, only to run off the road or into someone else or anywhere still in the blast radius. Beca’s car, burning.

Chloe regrets eating what little pasta she did as nausea rolls over her. Pure, undiluted terror coils in her stomach as the earth lurches. Her hands are numb and she can’t move and she’s gasping for air because she can’t **breathe** and she can’t think and dear God not Beca please not Beca not Beca not Beca –

A realization breaks through her panic and Chloe bolts up to her feet, the abruptness of her motion making her see spots. A trembling hand drops to her stomach as adrenaline shoots into her limbs.

She’s not pregnant. Not yet. But she had been planning on talking to Beca about having kids. It’s why she’d made her favorite meal, to help ease what would surely be a surprise. Chloe wants to carry Beca’s baby. She wants it more than anything.

But – Beca isn’t there.

Chloe sways on the spot. Oh God. What if – ?

The unthinkable snaps Chloe from her panic and she inhales deeply, sitting down at Beca’s usual spot at the table. _No,_ she tells herself, _calm down, it’s a breaking story. Beca’s fine. She’s just held up in the traffic delay._

Chloe doesn’t believe herself. She calls Beca, her fingers still trembling and stomach still rolling.

“Hey, it’s Beca Mitchell-Beale, sorry about missing your call. You know what to do at the beep.”

Rather than ringing, her call is sent straight to voicemail. A chill strokes down Chloe’s spine. She hangs up without leaving a message and immediately tries again.

No ring tone. Straight to voicemail.

Why do phones do that, again? Only when they’re off or broken? If Beca’s phone is somehow broken, then where…?

Chloe swallows the panic she feels spreading through her body and tries for the third time. Then a fourth. The sound of Beca’s voicemail message drags a strangled cry from her throat and her body hunches over the table.

She leaves a message the fifth time, because she has to do something.

“Bec. Where are you? Please, just – just call me, or text, or something, okay? _Please_ ,” her voice breaks. “I saw that there was an – an accident. Just, please, tell me you’re okay. Tell me you’re on the way.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath before whispering, “I love you. So, so much.”

She waits, unable to hang up, fighting against the urge to say more. How could she possibly fit all she needs to say to her wife into a voicemail?

After a minute of silence, Beca’s voicemail runs out of patience with her and cuts off abruptly. She presses the phone to her hear, staring at the opposite wall. She feels absent from her own body. Dreamy, almost. She wonders vaguely if she’s dissociating.

Her phone chimes again, this time clearly a text notification. Heart in her throat, she pulls the phone from her ear to stare at the screen, hoping to see Beca’s name. For the first time in her life, she’s utterly disappointed to see that she has a message from Aubrey.

_Saw the news. Are you and Beca okay?_

Chloe doesn’t bother replying. It’s not from Beca, and she has no idea how to answer it. Because no. She’s not okay. She won’t be okay until Beca comes home to her. Besides, she needs to keep the line open, just in case Beca fixes her phone.

But it seems that the other former Bellas disagree, because Amy texts her next.

_I texted Shawshank, but she didn’t reply. You two good?_

The message has her on her feet in an instant, pacing tightly around the table. She needs to move, needs to stand, needs to do something other than think about how Beca isn’t getting back to anyone because her phone is broken.

That’s all it is. Beca’s phone is broken and she’s going to walk through the door at any second and they’ll go to the store and buy her a new one. Because Beca’s okay. Beca has to be okay.

Her phone goes off for a third time and Chloe barely glances at it before growling in frustration. It’s Stacie.

_Hey you both okay? I heard about the truck_

Chloe’s legs are shaking. She knows she should sit down but can’t seem to make her body follow her command. Her head is floaty, filled with helium, and her stomach twists every time she glances out the window to the still-empty driveway.

She’s never felt so alone in her life.

Her mind spirals and she wonders if she should call the police or the local hospitals to ask about Beca. But then, she is Beca’s emergency contact; they’ll call her first.

Helplessness washes over her in waves. She doesn’t know what to do besides wait for Beca. She attempts to steel herself. She’d waited for Beca for years before; she can wait again now.

Her phone chimes yet again and she looks at it hopefully only to see another, more worried message from Aubrey. Knowing that she can’t postpone it anymore, Chloe opens the Bellas group chat.

_I’m at home. Beca commuting from work. She’s not here yet. I’ll keep you posted._

She figures that’s enough for now and can’t bear typing anymore, despite the torrent of messages that starts to come through in response. She ignores them, reserving her attention for Beca and only Beca.

Needing to do something, anything, she turns on their TV to the news in hopes of seeing more coverage of the blast. Sure enough, the anchors are talking about it, their voices overlaid on aerial shots of the accident. Chloe gapes at the screen – it looks horrible. The fire isn’t out yet and traffic is nearly at a standstill behind it. Cars are strewn across the road. Her heart lurches at the words flashing on the scrolling banner at the bottom: “Eight fatalities confirmed so far.”

They aren’t releasing names yet.

She drops to their couch, leaning her head forward into her hands and fighting hard to keep from losing herself completely. Everything is happening so fast. One minute, she was prepping their dinner and now she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see Beca again.

She’d been so looking forward to starting a family with Beca. A sob tears its way from Chloe’s chest; what if they never get the chance?

She tries desperately to cling to hope. Beca can’t be gone. She can’t. Chloe would have felt it, surely.

Wouldn’t she know if Beca had been ripped from her? Wouldn’t she have felt it in her soul?

* * *

_Her mom had known the instant Chloe’s dad had died in the car accident._

_Chloe remembers it as if it were yesterday. She had been fourteen. She and her brother had been sitting in the family room, watching TV together when they’d heard the crash from the kitchen. They’d run out to see their mom standing in the middle of the room, the bowl she’d dropped shattered on the floor. She’d clutched her chest and dropped to her knees, agony in her eyes._

_They had panicked, had begged their mom to say what was wrong, but she had just shaken her head wordlessly. Fifteen minutes later, the hospital called. Her dad had died on impact with a semi-truck on the highway._

_Chloe’s mom hadn’t needed the call. She’d known. She’d felt his death the moment it had happened._

* * *

Wouldn’t it be the same with Beca?

Chloe had been feeling weird but hadn’t felt the excruciating pain that her mom had felt at the instant of her dad’s passing. Surely, that meant Beca was okay? That she hadn’t… died? Beca couldn’t have died.

Chloe would know. Because Beca being torn away from her would be unimaginably agonizing.

Chloe tells herself that repeatedly as she sits, struggling against the fear threatening to overtake her. She would know. Beca is okay. She would **know**. And, therefore, Beca is okay. She chants to herself, over and over, until it’s all she can hear.

Until the jingle of keys snaps her eyes open and jolts her off the couch.

A second later, the door swings and Beca walks in, looking exhausted.

“Bec!” Relief floods Chloe as she lunges forward, throwing her arms around Beca’s body and pulling her close. She tucks her nose into Beca’s shoulder and inhales her familiar scent deeply, reveling in the warm, solid presence in her arms. She doesn’t realize she’s crying and shaking until the force of her sobs makes Beca stumble.

Beca clings onto her just as tightly in return, immediately securing Chloe to her. Chloe feels Beca’s lips press into her shoulder and the side of her neck, Beca saying frantically between kisses, “I’m okay, I’m okay, everything is okay.”

Chloe pulls away to wipe her eyes before crashing her lips onto Beca’s, her hands on Beca’s cheeks, kissing her as if her life depends on it. Because for a minute there, she didn’t think she’d ever get to do that again. The force of it makes Beca stumble back a step before regaining solid footing.

As soon as they break apart, Beca’s talking again, staring into her still-watering eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chlo, my phone died, and I didn’t have my charger. I’m so, so sorry.”

Beyond words, Chloe traces her fingers over Beca’s face, needing to reassure herself of her presence. Then, she pulls pack to swat Beca’s arm with as much force as she can muster.

“Ouch! What the hell –”

“Beca, how dare you not have your charger? I was so scared! I thought you were blown up, or in a ditch, or –”

“I know, I’m so sorry,” Beca cuts her off with a hand on her cheek. “I was behind it, leaving Brooklyn when I saw it tip up ahead. I had to wait in traffic but couldn’t text you and –”

Chloe hugs her again, beyond thankful that Beca had only been stuck in traffic around the accident. But still. If she’d seen the truck tip, she’d been close. Much too close.

“God. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers into Beca’s hair.

Beca squeezes her extra tightly. “You’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chloe lets out a shaky breath and doesn’t respond. She knows that no one can promise what Beca just did. Not really. But she appreciates it and hopes it’s true.

She pulls away after a moment and again wipes at her eyes. She needs to think about something else for a while. “Um, I made dinner, but it’s probably not any good anymore.”

Beca glances at the table, her tired expression relaxing at the sight of her favorite meal. “Oh, ravioli, too. I’ll microwave it? It’ll still be good.”

Chloe nods, suddenly ravenous. Everything feels okay now that Beca’s home safely.

As Beca fills her plate at the table then moves to the microwave, Chloe goes to their couch to pick up her phone. Unlocking it, she types out a message to the Bellas, who are becoming increasingly frantic.

_Beca’s back home, we’re both safe now. Sorry to worry you guys._

She turns off the screen and watches her wife heat up her dinner. Beca, as if feeling eyes on her, turns to send Chloe a soft, loving smile. Chloe grins back, the terror of the evening nothing more than a bad memory. She spares a thought to how lucky they are; that accident had taken the lives of others.

“I think I’ll stay home from work tomorrow,” Beca says casually as she takes her food from the microwave.

Chloe nods her agreement, knowing that Beca is doing it for her sake. The vet clinic she works at is closed the next day, so she’ll be home as well. The time together will be good for them. They need to recover.

Plus, it’ll give them time to talk about kids….

 

 


	2. Chapter 2 - Beca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beca's POV of the moments leading up to the accident, as well as what follows. Description of the car accident, though not overly graphic.

Beca knows she’s running late. She and Chloe always eat dinner just after 6:00, so she usually gets home a little before then to help set the table. But at this rate, she won’t be home until at least 6:10, if not later. She pushes against the gas pedal more firmly and smiles when she passes another car.

She’d had such a bad day at BFD Records. Her computer had been slow, so she’d had to call IT to spend nearly three hours updating it. Consequently, she hadn’t been able to finish a big project she’d been hoping to complete. She’d also had a disagreement with her boss, who seems to be under the impression that rap should be overlaid on every pop track. Then, she’d somehow manage to spill her coffee **into** her purse and had to take everything out of it to dry on her desk.

Then at the end of the day, yet another one of her clients flew off the diva handle and decided to hold a conference call less than fifteen minutes before she’d been planning on leaving. What should have been a small issue turned into nearly a half-hour debate over a chord progression that ended with Beca gritting her teeth and following the artist’s wishes. Even if it did make the song sound like shit.

Now, thanks to the delay, she’s running late. And the worst part, the absolute cherry on top of this whole day, is that her phone is dead. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but it means that she can’t let Chloe know she’s late. For the first time in their relationship, she can’t warn her wife not to expect her at the usual time. Which, again, wouldn’t be a big deal, but Beca fully understands why Chloe likes to know when she’s running late. Chloe’s life had been torn apart when her dad had died in a car accident, so it’s completely reasonable for her to want to know when Beca’s going to be home.

Beca would be lying if she said their whole “I’m going to be late” system didn’t give her some peace of mind, too. She likes to know where Chloe is and when to expect to see her again. Because of that, from the moment they’d made their agreement, Beca has kept a spare phone charger in her purse. And a car charger in her console, just in case.

But because she had been in a hurry leaving work, she’d forgotten to finish replacing the items in her purse following the coffee fiasco. She’d left her charger on her desk, along with the little notebook she keeps with her, her checkbook, and her miniature flashlight. She hadn’t even realized she’d left the charger until she’d already gotten onto I-495, and by then it seemed pointless to go back. She has another at home. And it wouldn’t even be a problem, but the charger she usually keeps in her car is currently in Chloe’s because she’d forgotten to put it back following their recent visit to Aubrey.

In conclusion, she is a complete idiot and Chloe is going to worry.

That is, unless she can get home before Chloe notices she’s late. She only has to drive a little faster. She presses again on the gas pedal and watches the needle on the speedometer creep up another five miles per hour.

She knows she’s going well over the speed limit as it is for this heavy of traffic (leaving Brooklyn at rush hour is a bitch), but she’s managed to avoid the serious traffic jams (largely by speeding past them). She would **never** drive like this with Chloe; the thought of getting into a car accident with Chloe next to her is too alarming for her to risk it. But when it’s just her in the car… well. Obeying speed limits seems less important.

She gains another three miles per hour.

At this speed, the cross breeze over the road catches at her car a little, making it wobble around in the lane until she adjusts. It’s not a big deal, though. She needs to drive this fast. She really doesn’t want Chloe to worry.

With a glance at the radio clock, she sees that she’s made up for lost time reasonably well. If she continues to avoid any major traffic jams, she might actually make it home on time. Beca smiles and relaxes her grip on the wheel; Chloe won’t even know she’d been running late. No harm done.

Up ahead, she spots several cars changing lanes to pass what appears to be a large gas hauler. She grimaces. She really doesn’t like driving around trucks because their size makes her nervous. She knows she’s a small person in a small car, so big rigs like that are intimidating. She’ll just have to pass it quickly instead of hovering beside it.

She follows the lead of the cars already passing the truck and waits until she’s next in line, driving rather closer to the back of the hauler than she normally might. But she’s in a hurry, so it’s fine. Absentmindedly, she notes that the hauler is swaying a little in the wind, its bulk a detriment. It only makes her more determined to pass it quickly before, God forbid, it sways over into the next lane or something.

She flicks on her blinker and checks her blind spot before changing to the passing lane. She fully intends to fly by the thing at top speed, but the car ahead of her is moving agonizingly slowly. It’s annoying. She gets closer to the car, hoping the driver will take the hint, until finds herself stuck right beside the gas hauler.

Her eyes jump between the car blocking her path and the swaying truck next to her, her grip tightening on the wheel. She doesn’t like this much. It makes her uneasy. In fact, she feels weird in general, as if she’d swallowed something wiggly in the last minute. It’s not particularly pleasant. A bead of sweat forms on her forehead and wonders if she’s maybe going to be sick.

Beca blinks, uncertain as to why she’s suddenly not feeling well. Inexplicably, she thinks of Chloe.

The car ahead of her is so slow. Haven’t they ever passed anyone before?

The hauler lurches over the line and into her lane by a foot, thrown by the wind. She gasps sharply and fights the urge to jerk the wheel; the truck corrects the swerve and moves back into the slow lane. Her anxious, sick feeling intensifies.

She’s had enough. She checks her rearview and, seeing no one in the fast lane behind her, backs off on the speed. Her car slows until she’s no longer beside the hauler and she switches back into the slow lane behind it and ahead of another car. That car honks at her, but she can’t bring herself to care. No way is she getting plowed into by a gas hauler, thank you very much.

Her car slows even further, her strange illness receding with every foot she gains between herself and the hauler. The car that had prevented her from passing finally moves ahead to make way for a line of cars behind Beca waiting to pass the truck as well.

She briefly thinks of changing back to the fast lane and passing now that the way is unobstructed, but for some reason Chloe’s face again flashes into her mind. She really doesn’t want to be anywhere near the hauler.

Beca grumbles a little, but slows until she’s driving at the speed limit. Chloe would never forgive her if she got into an accident driving home.

Now, because she’s slowed so much, cars are passing her and moving between her and the truck. She lets them, putting as much distance between herself and the hauler as she can. She doesn’t know why, but being near the truck had terrified her.

She sends her wife a silent apology and hopes Chloe won’t worry too much about her for being ten minutes late.

It happens in an instant.

A particularly strong gust of wind slams into her and everyone else on the interstate. She adjusts, but watches as the hauler teeters dangerously into the next lane, sideswiping the car attempting to pass it. The driver of the hauler overcorrects; the whole thing lurches first one way, then the other. It’s too much, and the momentum of the rig has it tumbling out of control, the cab of the truck suddenly in the fast lane and the trailer turning sideways and skidding along and tipping until it finally falls to scrape on the road, landing on the car that had been next to it.

The air rushes from Beca’s lungs as if she’d been punched in the gut.

A hideous screech of metal fills the air, a cacophony of noise that Beca is sure is the soundtrack to Hell. The cars ahead of her, unable to stop, plow directly into the crash. Beca slams on the brake, not caring that there is someone driving close behind her, focused only on not smashing into the growing pile of cars and twisted metal in front of her. She’s flung forward into her seatbelt as her car slows rapidly, but she’s not sure it’s enough. Sparks fly as the side of the hauler scrapes along the road and tears open as if made from plastic wrap.

She’s blinded by an impossibly bright light and slams her eyes shut, jerking the wheel instinctively at the tremendous blast of sound and invisible force that assaults her. She knows the instant she’s driven off the road and onto the shoulder, the rumble strips bouncing under her tires even has the ground shakes.

Beca braces herself, waiting for an impact from ahead or from behind, some huge collision that will almost certainly end her life and all she can think is Chloe, Chloe, Chloe –

But it never comes. She’s rigid in her seat, only registering that her car has come to a complete stop after several moments. A high-pitched ringing fills her ears and at first she can’t hear anything else, her eyes still shut tightly. Gradually, the ringing fades and sound returns – she hears her own rapid breaths and a strange, whimpering, gasping noise that stops as soon as she thinks about it. _Oh_. It was her. The next sounds to reach her ears are a loud whooshing, crackling noise and a lot of honking.

Beca opens her eyes. Her car has come to rest on the shoulder, somehow spun sideways, her windshield facing the road. She has the perfect view of a mountain of burning, twisted metal about 300 feet ahead of her and it takes her a moment to realize what it is.

When she does, she almost screams. Even when she recognizes the remains of the gas hauler and the cars that had been close around it, she doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Surely, there should be police and ambulances by now, if people were trapped in there? Where were the flashing lights?

Then she realizes; it’s only been seconds since the hauler tipped. She feels sick again and wonders if she should exit her car to either throw up or drag people away from the accident. But at the same time, her legs are trembling so badly that she’s not sure they can support her. And she has no medical training; attempting to help might do more harm than good. Beca exhales through her nose shakily and leans her head onto the steering wheel, feeling helpless. Oh, God. She’d almost passed the hauler. She’d almost been next to it when –

Chloe. Beca’s eyes fly open and she bolts upright in her seat. She reaches for her phone automatically to call her wife, only to be greeted by a black screen. That’s right. Dead battery.

Chloe will see the news, surely. She and Beca both have emergency notifications turned on in their phones. Chloe will know what happened.

Except, no, she won’t know anything because all she’ll see in the news is a tipped truck and an explosion and she won’t hear anything from Beca because her phone is dead.

Oh God.

She has to get home. She has to move. Where are the damn ambulances? She needs to tell Chloe she’s okay because Chloe is going to see the news and call Beca and Beca won’t answer because her phone is dead and Chloe will panic and freak out and she’ll think Beca’s as dead as her phone and she’s got to get home before it happens and tell Chloe she’s okay and –

Beca’s breath comes in short, rapid bursts and her entire body quivers. _Is this a panic attack?_ she thinks frantically. She’s not sure. She’s never had one before. But it feels like she imagines one would.

Ironically, the sound of sirens soothes her. She raises her head to see beautiful, glorious police cars, firetrucks, and ambulances rushing toward the burning mayhem ahead of her. For the first time since the crash, she looks around at the other cars trapped along with her. Because there are other cars; she’d been ahead of them.

A huge traffic jam lies behind her, with the car she’d been sure was going to rear end her resting half on the shoulder and half on the road facing her. She makes eye contact with the man at the wheel. He stares back, some of the horror she feels reflected in his eyes. Beside him, another car is at a complete stop in the fast lane, its front bumper caved in where it had hit the car lying in the opposite ditch from behind. Everyone she can see is moving and looking around, terrified.

Beyond all of them, back toward Brooklyn, hundreds of cars line up in wait to get around the accident. Beca glances back toward the carnage; rescue personnel are sprinting to it now, most moving toward the blast and attempting to control the flames, some rushing to the few cars strewn between Beca and the wreckage.

She drops her head back in the seat, her car still running idle until she figures it’s safer to turn it off. She can’t believe how lucky she is. If she’d been closer, or if she hadn’t backed off from passing the hauler… Her stomach lurches again.

She looks back out her windshield to see an emergency responder restrain someone attempting to exit their car. Beca takes the hint. Stay in the car. Stay safe from the flames and fumes. Easy enough. She knows it’ll be a long time before she can continue on her way home.

Oh God. Her hands clench into fists in her lap. Chloe.

Beca squeezes her eyes shut against the heat prickling in them. She’s breathing hard again, struggling to remain calm. She can picture it clearly; Chloe sitting at the table with dinner all prepared, anxiously tapping her knee and staring out the window. Chloe’s phone alerting her to the news, making her jump up and pace (Chloe always paces when she’s nervous). Beca imagines she’ll try calling her, but won’t it just go to voicemail? Isn’t that what happens when your phone dies? And Chloe won’t understand, won’t know why she’s not answering. She’s sure some of the Bellas (oh, the Bellas are going to be terrified, too, God, **why** did she leave her charger in Chloe’s car) will text both her and Chloe. Beca’s stomach twists. What will Chloe say to them? In her mind’s eye, Beca sees Chloe becoming more and more concerned, her eyebrows drawing together and tears forming. She knows Chloe is going to assume the worst – how could she not, considering how her father died?

Beca forces herself from her daydream, her breathing becoming erratic again. She feels dampness in her underarms as well as on her forehead from stress. She debates exiting her car to ask someone to borrow their phone to call Chloe, but then remembers that she’s supposed to stay where she is. She knows it’s for the best; she’s going to fare better protected in her car than out on the street should there be a second explosion.

It’s just. Chloe is going to be so scared. Beca knows if their situations were reversed, she’d be going ballistic.

 _Chloe, I’m so sorry, Chlo, I left my charger, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry, Chlo, I’m sorry_. Beca finds herself thinking in loops, desperately wishing she were telekinetic or telepathic or whichever dumb superpower it is that would let her transmit her thoughts to others. _Is that even a power?_ she wonders, slightly hysterical. _Why isn’t that some kind of spousal power you get when you get married?_

Guilt claws its way from her chest to her throat, making her swallow hard. Her mouth is so dry, though, that the action causes her to gag. Her hands have somehow landed on the wheel, clutching it, her knuckles white. Her chest and collarbone hurt from where she’d been thrown against the seatbelt in the sudden stop. She knows she’s going to have a dark bruise. Her back and shoulders ache, full of tension, and she wonders vaguely if Chloe can give her a massage when she gets home.

Because she will be getting home. Just, late.

Time moves in strange gallops. Ambulances come and go, pulling people from the wreckage where the firetrucks have extinguished the flames, but Beca doesn’t allow herself to look at the people on the stretchers. The police are setting up an alternative route so that the cars backed up behind the accident can eventually move. She wishes they could work faster. She thinks she hears a helicopter overhead but can’t see it when she cranes her neck. She figures it’s the news outlets when it doesn’t land to take anyone to a hospital.

After what feels like an eon, but is actually about forty minutes, the majority of the ambulances are gone and emergency responders finally start to wave cars through. Beca’s heart leaps and she scrabbles at her keys, still in the ignition. For a gut-wrenching moment, she thinks the car isn’t going to start, but then the engine wheezes to life. She hadn’t done her car any favors but stopping so abruptly.

Knee tapping impatiently, she waits for her turn, for the police officer to beckon her forward to inch around the accident and continue on her way. The few cars ahead of her gradually file past, driving awkwardly half on the shoulder and half in the ditch to skirt around the still-smoldering pile of metal. The only problem is, she’s still sideways on the shoulder. When the officer **finally** beckons to her, Beca grits her teeth and reverses into the ditch, turning the wheel to straighten the car. She pulls ahead, pointing her car in the right direction before inching forward.

She keeps her eyes focused on the road ahead of her as she passes, not wanting to see the people still trapped in the pile. She doesn’t want even more nightmares than she’ll already have.

She doesn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it whooshes out of her once she’s the other side of the accident. Cautiously, she speeds up until she’s again cruising toward home, the horror behind her growing smaller in her rearview. She’s aching to press the accelerator to the floor, anything to get home to Chloe sooner, but her nerves are completely wrecked, and she doesn’t trust herself to drive beyond the speed limit.

_Chloe, I’m coming. I’m okay._

A throbbing pain appears above her right eye, though she knows she didn’t hit her head. Surely, she should be home by now? How is it possible that the miles are passing so slowly?

She laughs shakily when she spies her exit. Only a few more turns.

She takes the exit, ending up close to home. Only a few more blocks.

She flinches when someone going the other way honks at a car sitting at a green light.

When she pulls onto their road, she almost cries in relief. Her head feels cloudy, like she’s not really in her own body.

She pulls into their driveway haphazardly, at a crooked angle, and turns off the ignition with trembling fingers. Her only thought is for the person waiting for her inside.

When Beca throws herself out of car to sprint to front door, her legs almost give out, but she forces herself to move forward. She knows how scared Chloe must be, and that’s unacceptable.

She fiddles with her keys, finally finding the one for the front door. She struggles with the lock for a moment in her haste until she manages to twist the key and open the door.

The second she’s inside, Chloe is upon her. Beca barely has time to take in Chloe’s damp eyes and strained expression before she shouts, “Bec!” and is practically tackling her in a hug.

Beca winds her arms around Chloe, feeling her face pressing into her neck. She stumbles slightly at the force of Chloe’s shaking and her heart drops. Chloe had obviously seen the news and had been utterly terrified. Beca’s never felt so guilty in her life. All she can think to do is press her lips to Chloe’s shoulder and neck as she repeats, “I’m okay, I’m okay, everything is okay.”

Despite her guilt and anxiety, a sense of calm washes over Beca now that she’s back in Chloe’s arms. She’d made it home. She and Chloe were together. That’s all that matters.

She almost protests when Chloe pulls away from the hug – Chloe never pulls away first – but it’s only for a moment while Chloe scrubs a hand over her face. She reaches back for Beca and captures her lips in a firm kiss. Again, Beca stumbles back a step at the emotion and pressure of the kiss, but she manages to hold them both up and kiss Chloe back equally as soundly. Her blood runs cold at the realization of how close she’d come to never kissing her wife again.

As soon as the kiss ends, Beca says, needing Chloe to understand, “I’m so sorry, Chlo, my phone died, and I didn’t have my charger. I’m so, so sorry.” She feels horrible, sick at how much Chloe had worried about her.

Chloe’s fingers land on her face, tracing it delicately, and Beca relaxes into the touch. She’s about to reach up to Chloe’s face, when Chloe winds back to deliver a solid thump on Beca’s arm. Like, really solid.

 “Ouch! What the hell –” Beca begins, indignant, before Chloe interrupts, her voice quivering.

“Beca, how dare you not have your charger? I was so scared! I thought you were blown up, or in a ditch, or –”

Beca winces at the very real possibility but decides not to share how close it had been. Chloe would just worry more. Instead, she says, “I know, I’m so sorry,” as she reaches to rest a hand on Chloe’s cheek, calmed by the soft skin she finds there. “I was behind it, leaving Brooklyn when I saw it tip up ahead.” Again, she chooses to omit certain details for Chloe’s sake. “I had to wait in traffic but couldn’t text you and –”

She’s cut off abruptly when Chloe envelops her in another hug, strong and secure. Beca squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on the body in her arms.

Then Chloe whispers, “God. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” and Beca feels it like a kick to the stomach. That sentence tells her all she needs to know about the state Chloe had been in.

She draws Chloe into her even more tightly, and replies, “You’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Beca knows it’s not really fair of her to promise something like that. No one can guarantee anything in life, but in that moment, she means it. She will fight to stay with Chloe with everything she has.

She feels Chloe exhale against her, hopefully reassured, before pulling away. She again wipes at her eyes before Beca gets the chance to kiss the tears away.

“Um, I made dinner, but it’s probably not any good anymore,” Chloe says in a fragile voice, changing the subject.

Beca looks over to the table, her chest warming at the sight of ravioli. It’s her absolute favorite. “Oh, ravioli, too,” she says, trying to rally them both. “I’ll microwave it? It’ll still be good.”

Chloe nods, so Beca moves to the table to scoop up the pasta. It looks a little overdone, but she doesn’t mind. She’s starving after all she’s been through, the last of the adrenaline finally leaving her body. Behind her, she hears Chloe’s nails tapping on her phone screen and she can only assume that she’s telling the Bellas she’s okay. Beca glances around and sees her spare charger lying on the counter and kicks herself yet again for being so forgetful. She’ll plug in her phone soon, but after she eats.

Beca pops her plate in the microwave to reheat and senses Chloe’s eyes on her. She turns to her wife and sends her a small smile, hoping to convey all she feels at being home. The tension leaves her body when Chloe returns the smile, relief still shining in her eyes.

Chloe’s expression gives Beca an idea, and she suggests, “I think I’ll stay home from work tomorrow,” as she pulls her now-hot food from the microwave. She knows Chloe has the next day off from work as well, and she thinks the time will be good for them to recuperate after the terror of the evening.

Chloe nods in response, looking suddenly thoughtful. Beca hopes she’s not already planning something too strenuous for them to do. She has something she kind of wants to talk to Chloe about.

As Beca lifts the fork full of ravioli to her mouth, she thinks how much sweeter their home would be with the sound of little feet pattering through it.


	3. Chapter 3 - After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry? It'll be okay, though. Promise.

Beca’s funeral is closed-casket, of course. It has to be.

The flowers are nice, Chloe thinks. BFD had donated black roses, which Beca would have claimed to hate but would have secretly loved. Beca’s father had sent a simple bouquet of lilies but hadn’t bothered to show up at his only child’s funeral; he’d never quite forgiven her for marrying another woman. It makes Chloe’s blood boil, but she imagines Beca’s hand smoothing between her shoulders and she’s able to remain calm. Jesse and his wife, flown in from LA, also brought flowers, a stunning arrangement of blue orchids. And, of course, each of the Bellas had contributed various plants, and, in Lilly’s case, a nice windchime.

The turnout (despite the absence of Beca’s father) is good, though Chloe knows Beca would have been uncomfortable. She never did like being the center of attention. Chloe has met pretty much everyone Beca has ever worked with, including some pretty high-profile music artists, though she can’t bring herself to be excited about meeting the celebrities. Not under these circumstances. She’s also met Beca’s favorite high school teacher, Mr. Winchester, and Beca’s best friend from grade school, Rachel. She was surprised to see Kimmy Jin, Beca’s freshman year roommate, but she appreciates it nonetheless.

All the Bellas are in attendance; they’ve been staying with Chloe the last few days. Aubrey had pulled Chloe into a hug the instant she’d arrived at the house the night of the accident, Stacie and Flo not far behind. Amy had arrived the next morning, more somber than Chloe had ever seen her, along with Lilly and Cynthia Rose. Jessica and Ashley had come that afternoon, as had a stunned-looking Emily. Normally, Chloe would have been overjoyed at the reunion. Beca certainly would have been. As it is, she can barely bring herself to look at them. They only remind her of what she’s lost.

Chloe would give anything to forget what Beca had looked like the last time she’d seen her. She desperately wishes her final memory of Beca had been how she’d looked before work on the morning of the accident; a little tired, but smiling, happy, and _alive_. But no. That would be too easy. Instead, her last impression of her wife’s appearance is Beca’s body lying on a hospital bed, her entirely covered in gruesome burns from the explosion. It’s seared into her mind forever. At first, Chloe hadn’t even recognized the face of the person she loved most in the world. She’d briefly wondered if the hospital had somehow made an awful mistake. But then she’d caught sight of Beca’s titanium wedding band on the stranger’s ruined hand, and she’d known.

She’d known when it had happened, actually, the instant that Beca had been torn away from her forever. She’d felt it, as though someone had ripped open her chest and extracted her heart. It had come from nowhere as she’d been prepping their dinner. She’d thought she was having a heart attack, sure she was about to die, until the agony had eased to a sick ache. That’s when she’d seen the news coverage of the accident, first on her phone, then on the TV. She’d known then. She hadn’t needed the call that had come half an hour later, the one that dropped her to her knees and wrenched a scream from her throat.

She can’t stop glancing at the casket. Beca would have been furious at the small size of it. A part of Chloe waits for Beca to push open the lid with a muffled curse and sit up to stare at her audience in confusion. She supposes that would scare people, but she wouldn’t mind at all. She’d have Beca back.

Eyewitnesses to the accident had told the police (who had then told her) that Beca had been trying to pass the gas hauler when it’d tipped. She’d been stuck behind a slower-moving car, though, unable to finish passing when the wind caught the hauler. It had careened sideways into her, wobbling and jerking around until it eventually tipped to fall directly on her car. The witnesses swore that there was nothing Beca could have done. It had all happened so fast. At least Chloe can take some comfort in that Beca didn’t suffer.

Chloe wants to be anywhere else in the world. She wants to run from the funeral home and never look back. She wants to put as much space between herself and the shell that is left of Beca in that box. She wants to hide from the blur of faces around her, including those of the Bellas. When she looks at them, all she sees is the one that’s missing.

Well, no, Chloe doesn’t want to be _anywhere else_ ; she wants to be one place specifically. Chloe wants to be at their (her) home, in their (her) bed with Beca curled up in her arms. And that’s the one thing she can’t have.

Instead, she stands right next to the too-small box containing the love of her life and individually greets everyone waiting in the long line to talk to her. Aubrey stands at her shoulder, waiting to catch her if she collapses – again. She talks to so many different people, all having some different connection to Beca’s life. And yet, they all say variations of the same thing. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Beca would have scoffed at them. _Isn’t there something more original they could come up with?_ she would have muttered to Chloe. And, normally, Chloe would have scolded Beca gently, reminding her that no one really knows what else to say. But for once, Chloe is inclined to agree with her grumpy wife; “sorry” doesn’t really help her.

She doesn’t want their apologies. She wants her wife back.

She tries to deliver her eulogy, but all she can manage is, “She is – was – my everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do, because she’s my Beca.” Her voice breaks and she can’t bear the looks of uncomfortable sympathy her audience sends her, so she gives up and sits back down. It doesn’t really matter what she says to these people anyway. Beca knows (knew) how she feels (felt? No, _feels_ , always) so that’s all that matters.

For their own eulogy, the other Bellas deliver a rendition of “Amazing Grace,” leaving an empty space where Beca normally would have stood during a choreo-free performance. Beca would have said it was excessive. Beca would have had a lot to say about her own funeral.

Chloe doesn’t sing with them. She can’t. It hurts too much.

Music had brought her and Beca together. They’d sung together in a shower the second time they’d met. Over the years, Beca had become all the music Chloe needed in her life.

Chloe hasn’t listened to music since Beca died.

She knows she’ll never sing again. Not without the other half of what used to be a duet.

Time moves strangely. One moment, she’s listening to the Bellas perform, and the next, she’s standing outside, watching from the front row as Beca’s casket is aligned over a deep hole dug in the ground.

She’d never imagined it would happen like this. She’d always thought they’d go together, or at least within hours of each other in their old age. It feels perverse, that she should be so young and healthy and alive while Beca is being permanently laid to rest. Something has gone wrong in the universe. They were never meant to be separated like this. Chloe knows in her soul that it’s wrong for them to have been pulled apart.

She would trade places with Beca in an instant if she could. If it were possible, if she had it her way, it would be her being lowered into the quiet, dark hole while Beca stands, very much alive. But then, she realizes, it would be Beca in pain instead of her. That’s not any better. The only acceptable option would be for them to have gone together.

Beca’s casket hits the floor of the hole with a muted thud. Chloe absolutely despises how lonely it looks down there. She desperately wants to lie down with Beca, to keep her company forever. At least they’d be together, then.

She’s so tired.

Nothing sounds more appealing then climbing down in the hole with Beca for a good long rest.

So, she does.

Chloe walks forward, sits down on the grassy edge of the grave, not caring that her dress is getting dirty. Without so much as a backward glance toward the faceless people behind her, she pushes off to land delicately on top of the casket. She crouches, laying across the top. She likes it better this way. She can’t be bothered to move, not even when Aubrey tosses the first handful of soil down on top of her and Beca. She doesn’t care at all. 

* * *

Chloe’s eyes fly open and she bolts upright in bed with a gasp. She coughs violently, tasting dirt in her mouth. Her face is wet; she’d been crying in her sleep. Still coughing, she glances at the clock on her nightstand to see that it’s 3am. The accident with the gas hauler had been the previous evening, which explains the nightmare. She instinctively reaches a hand to her right, to Beca’s side of the bed, only to find it cold and empty.

Her stomach lurches violently and she stares at the open space uncomprehendingly. Beca’s gone. Dread washes over her and she fights against her rising panic. No. It had just been a dream, that’s all, just a stupid nightmare, it isn’t real, Beca isn’t dead, there was no funeral, no, Beca is okay, she’s just –

 _Thud_. “Ouch! You fucker…” comes a soft voice from outside the bedroom, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Chloe’s rapid breaths slow and relief floods her veins when Beca enters the dim room, rubbing her elbow.

“Bec, you’re okay,” she breathes, dropping her head to her hands.

“Yeah,” Beca replies, “I just whacked my arm on the bathroom doorframe.”

Chloe laughs once shakily and says, “No, I meant… you’re okay.”

Beca, maybe picking up on the seriousness of Chloe’s tone, moves back into bed quickly to peer closely at Chloe’s face. Her eyes widen, and she reaches out to trail her fingers softly over Chloe’s cheek. “Hey, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice full of concern.

Chloe sighs and leans into the touch, letting her eyes slide closed. “It’s nothing,” she replies. “Just a stupid dream.”

“It’s not nothing,” Beca insists. “It upset you. Do you want to talk about it?”

Just thinking about the horror of the nightmare brings a fresh wave of tears to Chloe’s eyes. She scoots forward to wrap her arms around her wife, needing to feel Beca securely in her arms. Despite the awkward side angle, Beca holds her tightly, leaning into her in response.

Chloe exhales slowly, trying to calm herself. She whispers, “In my dream, you didn’t make it out of that accident.” She feels Beca stiffen in her arms, only to relax and squeeze her more tightly.

“It was awful,” Chloe continues. “God, your funeral was the worst. So many people were there, all the Bellas and Jesse and even Kimmy Jin, but your dad wasn’t and the girls all sang ‘Amazing Grace’ and –”

“Hold up,” Beca interrupts, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “Kimmy Jin? Really?”

“Yes,” replies Chloe, confused.

Beca frowns. “That’s so weird. I didn’t think she liked me.”

Chloe gapes. “That’s not the point –”

“And ‘Amazing Grace’? Seriously? That’s just cliché, and frankly somewhat excessive.”

“Beca –”

“And oh my God, at least tell me they gave me an adult-size coffin, not some stupid little –”

“It’s a casket,” Chloe corrects automatically, “not a coffin.”

“ _Still_ ,” Beca emphasizes before falling silent.

Chloe stares at her in amazement. Then, finally, she feels a grudging smile lift her lips and Beca smiles tentatively back. Before Chloe knows it, she’s laughing quietly as Beca leans to press their foreheads together. And just like that, Chloe’s dream doesn’t seem so scary anymore. Beca has always known what to do to calm her down.

“ _Of_ _course_ you complain about your own funeral,” she murmurs.

“Well, yeah,” Beca replies. “You only get one, you know? Better make it halfway decent.”

Chloe snorts and shakes her head. She married a complete weirdo.

After a moment, Beca says more seriously, “I’m sorry you had that dream. I promise, it’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

Chloe nods, feeling better already. “Why were you in the bathroom?” she asks as she wipes her eyes, wanting to change the subject.

Beca leans against the headboard, fluffing up a pillow behind her lower back. “Why do you think?” she deadpans.

Chloe shoves her playfully before leaning to mirror her position. Once she’s settled, Beca reaches out to drape an arm over her shoulders, drawing her into her side.

“Actually,” Beca begins slowly, making Chloe look at her, “I’d just woken up from a bad dream of my own. About the accident. What it looked like. I had to walk around a little, get it out of my head.”

Chloe’s breath catches. She’d seen live aerial footage of the crash, and that had been horrific enough. She can’t imagine what Beca must have seen, so close to it and the loss of life it brought.

“Bec, I’m so sorry…” she trails off, rubbing a hand soothingly over Beca’s stomach.

Beca looks over at her with a tight smile. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “I’m one of the lucky ones.”

Chloe tilts her face up to press a soft kiss against Beca’s lips. She feels pretty lucky, too.

“And actually,” Beca says, looking away again once their kiss ends, tapping her fingers absentmindedly against Chloe’s shoulder, “the whole thing has me thinking… we never really know how much time we have, do we?”

Chloe nods slowly, uncertain of where Beca’s going with this.

“And, well, going along with that,” Beca adds with a deep breath, “I’d like to talk to you about maybe, one day, possibly… starting a family?” she looks back at Chloe, nervousness shining in her eyes.

Blinking numbly at her, Chloe can only stare. She’s pleasantly surprised; she’d thought she’d have to work up to the topic of kids with Beca, and yet here Beca was, bringing it up first.

“Or, uh, you know, if that’s what you want?” Beca asks, thrown by Chloe’s silence.

Chloe snaps out of her daze and nods rapidly. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly, “I do want that. You just surprised me.”

Beca grimaces at her. “I know, this isn’t how I’d planned on bringing it up, but…”

“No, it’s okay,” Chloe says quickly. “I was actually going to talk about that with you tomorrow. Well, today. I was going to ask you if you wanted to try for kids.”

“Really?” Beca’s face brightens even in the darkness of the room. “You were?”

Chloe nods with a small laugh. It’s scary sometimes, how much they’re on the same page.

“Well, great!” Beca beams – actually _beams_ – at her, only to turn away to stifle a yawn. Once it passes, she looks apologetically back at Chloe and suggests, “But, um, can we maybe have that more serious conversation when we’re both properly awake?”

With a grin, Chloe says, “Yes, of course, sleepy head,” before leaning to again capture Beca’s lips in a kiss. She’s never going to get tired of kissing her wife.

Chloe had intended to keep the kiss light and brief, but to her surprise, Beca traces her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Instinctively, she parts her lips so that their tongues can meet gently. Before she knows it, she’s leaning back with Beca hovering over, a knee positioned high between her thighs.

“I thought you were tired,” she says teasingly as Beca drops to kiss her neck.

“I _was_ ,” Beca growls against her skin, making her squirm. “But now, I think I’d rather practice our baby-making, since we both want kids.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose, doing her best to ignore the hand creeping under her shirt. “You do know that’s not how this works, right?”

“Are you actually complaining right now?” Beca asks, rocking forward into her once.

Chloe’s body tenses at the motion. “Nope!” she gasps, moving her hands to Beca’s back. “Just pointing out basic biology.”

Beca doesn’t respond, only rocks into her again.

Chloe lets her eyes slide shut and reaches to pull Beca down and into a searing kiss, her nightmare fading from her mind. Beca is safe, and that’s all that matters now.

She can’t wait to begin planning for a new addition to their little family.

 


End file.
